


The desire to crack bones between delicate teeth

by glossary



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Absolutely inappropriate use of handkerchiefs, Desk Sex, F/M, Fingering, Gags, Having sex with people who scare you, Light Dom/sub, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossary/pseuds/glossary
Summary: Tina Goldstein tries very hard, and that's quite often not enough. Graves, of course, thinks that's unacceptable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i like this, despite how clumsily it was written (originally a prompt fill for [this](https://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1184.html?thread=2110624#cmt2110624)). it hasn't even the faintest pretence of plot. only warning i can think of are some kinky thoughts about churches, but it's mild.
> 
> title from _the animal heart: she warns him_ by jeannine hall gailey: When I shed my skin / for you, I left intact / my animal heart / the desire to crack bones between delicate teeth.

Some things to keep in mind:  
  
1\. Tina Goldstein tries very hard  
  
2\. That’s quite often not enough

* * *

First time he fucks her he makes her go around without underwear. Sometimes she skips brassieres because it’s not like she’s got a God-given need of them, not like Queenie, and she hadn’t ever thought much about it before he made her aware of everything, but she wears knickers always because, well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s just how the world goes, isn’t it? But he says in that precise tone of voice, “Ms. Goldstein. Tomorrow, you may skip the undergarments,” only he pronounces _you may_ the same way he does when he says _kneel_ and things end up quite happily for Tina when he says that, and also she probably won’t ever get over the mixture of fear and arousal that bubbles inside her every time he looks her in the eye so – so yes.  
She skips the knickers.  
  
He tells her to bend over his desk. It smells like ink and aged wood and paper and some parchment, so old-fashioned, really – he tells her to bend over his desk and asks, mildly, “Are you paying attention, Goldstein?” and she doesn’t dare answer but she can already feel her back tensing up, sweat beading between her shoulder blades and dripping thick as blood. He raises her skirt, pulling slowly, and she’s aware of her heartbeat in her throat and between her legs and in each one of her fingers. Her hands are fisted so strongly she’s shaking.  
  
He touches her.  
  
Gently.  
  
First her thigh. Then up, towards the plumpness of her ass. Then he uses both hands – both hands! His skin feels so hot it’s burning – and spreads her open slowly and he doesn’t say anything, he’s not saying anything, Tina wants to asks him if she’s already doing something wrong except her throat is closed, locked up, she wants to say she’ll do whatever is needed to fix this, that’s Tina Goldstein, she’s a fixer, never a quitter, and then he leans down and kisses her pussy as delicately as you might kiss the first flower of spring and she can’t help arching up, standing on the tips of her toes and rubbing against the top of the desk. A fountain pen falls down with a clatter. Her breast are heavy and full and lonely.  
  
“Mr. Graves,” she says in a small voice. She’d say _fuck me_ , beg for it in her most serious Auror voice except whenever she asks for it he says she needs discipline and makes her sit on her heels while he signs papers, occasionally touching her hair to guide her face so it rests against his thigh and then later on he’ll rock a bit and his erection will bump against her cheek, the edge of her mouth, and quietly he’ll inquire in that deadly tone that’s brought down half the criminals they’ve ever caught – _You’re not thinking of charging ahead_ again, _are you, Goldstein?_  
  
This time. This time for sure. She’s getting it if it’s the last thing she ever does.  
  
He waits to see if she says anything else but Tina is reasonably clever and bites her lip, letting her forehead knock the desk softly. There’s a rasping huff, something that could be a laugh in somebody more human and less extraordinary, and then another kiss, and another and another, all of them light and lovely like sighs, until finally her knees are trembling and he kisses her deeper, his wet tongue touching her wet self, pressing down over something bumpy that makes her twitch like she’s been shocked. Tina lets her lip go and puts a few fingers in her mouth. This time for sure, she thinks, delirious. For sure. For sure. For sure.  
  
Tina’s shaky on gods but Queenie says every bit helps and Tina may, perhaps, be persuaded to share with someone she trusted – or feared – or a confusing, arousing mix of both – the fact two days ago she dropped by a no-maj church so she could beg the crucified man on her knees for a bit of luck. Endurance is a virtue, isn’t it? Mostly she’d been trying not to sneeze because of the candles and the smell of flowers and endure, endure, she fills her mind with clutter, with nothingness, because. Because Tina is a fixer and she tries hard and she almost always falls just a bit short and Mr. Graves is very, very diligent in punishing her or comforting her, or, well, both.  
  
She starts to cry fifteen minutes in.  
  
He places his body over hers like a long hot coat and, with an arm over her stomach, helps her straighten up a little so he can unbutton her dress. It’s a classic number, loose everywhere and a pale shade of grey-lavender, with some buttons down the front in a touch that’s mostly aesthetic, and he’s very deft at it, unbuttoning one-handed. Of course he is. Of course. Mr. Graves is exceedingly efficient. She can feel the bulge of his cock hitting her entrance, covered with the cloth of his trousers and presumably his underwear although maybe he also likes to go about with nothing, and she gets so wet, drenched, saliva pools in her mouth and she swallows because that’d be embarrassing while he bites her ear gently, rocking them both sedately, like they’ve got all the time in the world.  
  
Tina opens her mouth. Fuck me. She closes it. This time for sure. She should’ve knelt longer in church.  
  
“Goldstein,” says Mr. Graves.  
  
Tina tries to answer the best she can but he’s touching the underside of one of her breasts now, pushing her down harder so it flattens against the desk, and she’s so fixated on the feeling of his cock and his hips and everything that it takes her a second to make something resembling a coherent sound of assent.  
  
“Goldstein,” says Mr. Graves, sterner. “Answer me.”  
  
“Y… yes, Mr. Graves,” says Tina.  
  
“You’ve got to be quieter. Everyone’s going to hear how you’re behaving. I’ve got enough headaches because of you, Goldstein.”  
  
It’s like a gut-punch. Leaves her breathless and hot and she opens her mouth, closes it, gasps tiny little _ah-ah-ah_ s as he licks the back of her neck. He lets go of her stomach to pull down the fabric of her dress and her arms lose mobility which is mostly unremarkable because it’s not like she’s going anywhere or doing anything, really. He smacks the curve of her butt almost idly but the noise is _sharp_ , as if it cuts the air, and Tina’s pussy contracts and then she’s so wet it’s dripping down her leg.  
  
Mr. Graves was right on asking her not to wear the knickers.  
  
“I said,” repeats Mr. Graves, softer. “ _Shut up._ ”  
  
Tina blinks back tears. It’s not like she’s upset – well, she’s a little scared, but it’s not like – it’s not that she enjoys it when Mr. Graves is nice to her, anymore that she enjoys it when he’s cold. His attention is equally satisfying and unnerving, just to make that clear. It’s just her body goes as dumb as her mind when he touches her and he’s fucking her with one finger now, oh, no, that’s two, and – and he scissors his fingers, stretching her, then going deeper, retreating, and she’s so aware of herself down there, between her legs. Without him inside she feels even hotter.  
  
“Please,” she whispers. Opening her mouth means a string of saliva falls on the desk. Oh, no. She hopes he won’t scold her about it later. She hopes he won’t make her kneel in front of him while he strokes himself leisurely until he comes all over the desk and then makes her lick it clean. That’s so oddly specific. If he doesn’t put his cock inside her within five minutes she’ll explode.  
  
“You can be taught, Goldstein,” he says with that happy purr that means he’s been pleased. “Just like that. Keep it down.”  
  
There’s a moment of nothing and then he mercifully, thank you God, pushes his cock into her until he bottoms out. Tina goes a bit nuts there for a second, scratching the desk and trying to climb it or rock harder against him or both at once, an overload of sensation that makes her contract around him, her belly feels hot and full and delicious, her breasts rub the table and she tries to delicately push away some paperwork so it won’t get ruined. What if he makes her rewrite it for him while naked? What if he keeps fucking her forever? What if the weight of his hand stroking her spine, going up until it grabs the nape of her neck tightly, is the only way she’ll get aroused again?  
  
He begins to move. She lets go of that silly idea.  
  
It’s fantastic. It’s ridiculous to say it’s fantastic but it’s fantastic. Tina opens her mouth wider when he hits a good place and then she’s gasping, again and again and again and she thinks about that one time he fingered her while holding her against the window, and she still hasn’t found out if it’s a real window or if it’s one of the fake ones they make to fight the claustrophobia, and her breath had misted the glass… And then he picks up the pace and her hips start to hurt and some funny bone keeps hitting the edge of the desk but it doesn’t matter because she comes, and she screams, and he’s saying shut up, Goldstein, for the love of God, shut up, shut _the fuck_ up except the noise keeps pouring out, and he reaches down to pinch her nipple and her clit at the same time and the wave doubles and he makes her head rest flat against the table, his cock still going in-out-in-out so fast and her trying to hold him desperately, so tight, and then he’s cursing exasperatedly and shoving something into her mouth – fingers, no, fabric, although she licks the pad of his index without meaning to and he slows his movements thoughtfully, but moves away anyway. Fabric. A handkerchief that smells nice and goes wet immediately because Tina’s made of water, it seems, slick between her legs and saliva in her mouth and tears in her eyes and he fucks her through that long stuttering orgasm until it begins to hurt except not except yes―  
  
She can’t think about anything. Just that it’s a long long long time.  
  
“I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes,” he says after he’s fixed himself up and removed the kerchief from her mouth. She’s quiet now so it’s okay except she’s leaking somewhere else and so he pushes it between her legs slowly, with the tip of his finger, as if not wanting to dirty his hand with his own seed. A drop and then another run down her thighs anyway but she hasn't the energy to move and wipe them off, even once he’s done with his little project and moves away. He still wipes clean himself on her ass. “I suggest you compose yourself, Goldstein, unless you want the President to see you like this.”  
  
Her vision goes white with fear. She unsticks herself from the desk and her legs give out without the support. Her knees hit the marbled floor and she shivers violently. Cooling sweat runs down her back.  
  
She clears her throat. “Sir.”  
  
“What was that, Goldstein?”  
  
“I’ll… try to compose myself, sir.”  
  
“That’s what I thought.”  
  
But trying isn't always enough, you know.


End file.
